


Endurance

by INMH



Series: after the evacuation (pacifist ending) [22]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Drama, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Pneumonia, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Hank falls ill, and Connor finds himself in a poor position.





	Endurance

Connor awoke to Sumo nosing at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
Sumo whined softly, lifting a big paw and dragging it on Connor’s arm and the bed. Connor didn’t know what the problem was- Sumo had never awoken him like this before- but if he didn’t get up now there was a decent chance Sumo would jump on him to wake him up. And as Sumo was a Saint Bernard, that might actually kill him. Connor stood up and looked to the clock, saw that it was four AM and it was at least two hours until Sumo had his usual breakfast and morning walk.  
  
The dog in question had paced over to the door and was frantically pawing at the floor. Connor didn’t have much in his protocols regarding dog behavior, but that looked like a sign of anxiousness. Sumo, like most dogs, had cues for when he was hungry or wanted to go on a walk, and none of what Connor was seeing now was consistent with that. He was a big, friendly, very _calm_ dog that once hadn’t even reacted strongly to a strange android smashing through the kitchen window; a fact that Connor had been terribly grateful for at the time.  
  
This was… Troubling.  
  
Connor moved towards the door, and Sumo left the room, rounding the corner to Hank’s bedroom and trotting inside, whimpering from somewhere in the darkness. There was a small, niggling feeling that was growing larger, something that told Connor something was wrong- Hank would call it his intuition, and Connor would simply call it a sense of unease brought on by analyzing his situation carefully. And even without looking at this one too closely, there were warning-signs.  
  
“Sumo?” He whispered.  
  
Sumo whined again.  
  
And then a loud, racking cough sounded from the darkness.  
  
Connor’s LED spun yellow. “Hank?” When there was no response, he slipped into the bedroom.  
  
The limited light seeping in through the blinds was enough for Connor to see by, but he was careful anyway as he made his way over to the bed. Hank was a dark, unmoving lump on the bed, and Connor debated whether or not he should speak to him, or poke him, or just attempt a scan to see what was going on. Hank had been coughing on and off for the last week or so, but Connor had thought little of it and merely assumed it was the dry, cold weather affecting him.  
  
Hank coughed again, a deep, hacking, wet thing that doubled him over in the bed, and Connor winced.  
  
 **[INITIALIZING SCAN…]**  
  
 **[PROCESSING DATA…]**  
  
 **[BODY TEMPERATURE ELEVATED: 100.2 DEGREES.]**  
  
 **[LUNGS: INFLAMED, FLUIDS PRESENT.**  
  
 **POSSIBLE DIAGNOSES: BRONCHITIS, PNEUMONIA]**  
  
Connor had not been built to perform medical evaluations, but his analytical abilities were strong enough that he could deduce pneumonia to be the more likely candidate due to the fluid in Hank’s lungs, which was probably mucus. He also knew enough to know that with Hank’s age and lifestyle choices- namely, the excessive drinking- pneumonia was a particularly precarious diagnosis.  
  
“Hank,” He whispered, reaching out and gently touching Hank’s arm. It would be better to get a grasp on Hank’s condition before doing something extreme, like calling an ambulance. “Hank? Wake up.”  
  
Hank grunted, rolled over, but didn’t open his eyes. “Huh.”  
  
Connor gave his arm a little shake. “Hank, wake up. You’re not well.”  
  
Hank groaned, and then sleepily reached a hand up, catching it first on Connor’s shoulder, and then again on top of his head. “Go back to bed, Cole,” Hank slurred, his hand carding roughly through Connor’s hair, “Daddy’s fine.”  
  
Connor couldn’t quite put into words what those words _felt_ like in that moment. Connor wanted to shrink away from Hank as though he’d been threatened with a physical blow, wanted to leave the room and hope that Hank did not remember saying that to him later on when he was better; he didn’t want to know what Hank would look or feel like when he realized he’d mistaken Connor for his long-dead son. Cole was such a terribly delicate subject, one he rarely brought up or acknowledged unless Hank did so first because of how erratic Hank’s mood could become when he meditated on Cole and his death for too long.  
  
Connor was tempted to step out of the room, but resisted. Uncomfortable or not, Hank was not well, and action needed to be taken. “Hank,” Connor whispered again, shaking Hank a little harder. “Hank, I need you to wake up. Please.”  
  
Hank groaned, and gave another rattling cough before opening his eyes. “What?” He grunted.  
  
“You have a fever.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You have a fever. You’re sick.”  
  
Hank struggled to sit up in bed, and the act of changing positions had him hacking painfully again. Connor did not know what it was to cough- an android only ever did that when foreign liquid (or Thirium, if injured) became trapped in their bodies and needed to be flushed out; and rarely did enough become caught to require the sort of violent contractions that Hank’s lungs were currently experiencing. But from what Connor could see, human coughing was a messy and unpleasant phenomenon.  
  
“You need to go to a hospital.”  
  
Hank groaned, rubbed his eyes. “‘S the middle of the night.” He wheezed when he spoke, sounding out of breath.  
  
“You’re not breathing well.”  
  
“I’m _fine,_ ” Hank protested.  
  
“Hank-”  
  
“I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow,” Hank mumbled, clumsily rearranging the pillows and leaning back against them, eyes falling shut. Sumo circled round and round at the end of the bed, whining softly; Connor had heard of animals sensing their owners’ physical distress before, but this was impressive.  
  
Connor was torn. He wasn’t sure that this was a situation that required an ambulance- Hank was sick, certainly, but did not show any signs of a serious emergency just yet- and he knew he would pay hell later if he called one unnecessarily. Though he knew it would be better to take care of the problem immediately, Connor had also never been ill before and was trying not to underestimate how exhausted Hank was, sick and awake in the middle of the night. It would only be a little while, and Hank would be sleeping, resting; maybe they could wait a few hours until morning. If Hank resisted then, Connor would be much more justified in dragging him out of the house and forcing him to go to the hospital.  
  
“Alright, Hank. We can wait.” Connor looked to Sumo, whose tail was wagging anxiously. “Lie down, Sumo. It’s alright.” Sumo did as instructed, but not without another discontented whine. Connor pulled a pillow over and leaned against it, laying down and shutting his eyes.  
  
“The hell are you doing?” Hank grunted.  
  
“I’ll be able to monitor your pulse and temperature this way,” Connor supplied, eyes still shut. “If either becomes a problem before morning, I’ll be able to wake up and call an ambulance.”  
  
“So you’re sleeping here?”  
  
“Would you rather I sit and stare at you all night?”  
  
“Fuck’s sake, Connor, just…” Hank slurred, but trailed off and did not finish. Connor opened an eye, and Hank’s eyes were shut, chest moving steadily even though Connor could still detect a slight rattle to his breathing.  
  
Connor shut his eye and started to go into low-power mode. He could choose the degree to which he could power-down, and chose a lighter setting so that he could continue to monitor Hank’s pulse and temperature. If his temperature hit 103.3 or his pulse became significantly erratic Connor’s system would alert him and bring him back to full consciousness.  
  
Sumo whimpered again from the foot of the bed, and Hank stirred, mumbling something incoherent before coughing again. He was probably almost asleep and didn’t need Sumo keeping him awake.  
  
“It’s alright, Sumo,” Connor murmured, feeling the steady thrum of Hank’s pulse beneath his fingers as he squeezed his wrist tightly. “It’s alright.”  
  
Sumo fell silent, and Connor went dark.  
   
-End  
  
  
  



End file.
